


The Once Upon a Time Affair: It must be destroyed

by mrua7



Series: Strange, scary stories and the Man from U.N.C.L.E. [57]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Partnership, Scary, Spies & Secret Agents, Spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 12:33:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20994860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Napoleon and Illya are tasked with retrieving an important file and destroying a satrapy located in Northwest England. Not an unusual assignment for them, or so they think...





	The Once Upon a Time Affair: It must be destroyed

**Author's Note:**

> Posted for The Once Upon a Time Affair Challenge on Section VII, Livejournal.
> 
> The prompt: Napoleon tried not to worry as he waited for his partner. The satrapy had been evacuated, and Solo had retrieved the file they had been sent for. All that remained was for Illya to work his explosives magic and they could be away. 
> 
> Each story in this challenge must begin with the prompt

**Napoleon tried not to worry as he waited for his partner. The satrapy had been evacuated, and Solo had retrieved the file they had been sent for. All that remained was for Illya to work his explosives magic and they could be away. **

He waited and waited, checking with his binoculars for any sign of his partner until finally he finally decided something was wrong.

There was no Illya and no big boom.

Solo abandoned his hiding place in which he and his partner had agreed to meet, it was a small cave in a gully beneath Domesday castle...if one could call it a castle, it was near the village of Rochdale in Lancashire. 

There was a saying that a ‘man’s home is his castle’, but apparently Rufus Redfern the satrapy chief, wanted to make that saying a reality

It was a crude structure constructed of concrete and cinder blocks with what looked like a rampart along its walls. There was even a large arched wooden door with a drawbridge, though there was no moat surrounding the place.

Since the satrapy had been evacuated, the front door was left wide open and Napoleon simply walked in.

He, like his partner, was dressed completely in black, with grease paint smeared on his face to camouflage his skin.

Holding his carbine, he was prepared to sleep dart anyone he encountered. It was his presumption that someone was still here, preventing Illya from doing his job.

At least that’s what Solo hoped, and that Illya wasn’t dead.

He searched the satrapy room by room, until he encountered something that wasn’t on the blueprints supplied to them by the Section IV Intelligence division.

There was a stone staircase curving down into the darkness, leading to who knows what?

He finally reached the bottom to what looked like a dungeon. 

Is this where they conducted their experiments, he wondered. They’d found no evidence of that in their recon before he and Illya went their separate ways to do what had to be done.

“Illya?” Solo said his partner’s name, though not too loudly. His voice echoed in the darkness.

He continued walking and finally as he turned a corner he saw a light coming through a small window within a wooden door.

He peeked through and saw Illya standing with his back to a corner of the small room. The Russian’s eyes were open wide, his mouth agape, it was an alarming look with his face darkened with the greasepaint. 

If Napoleon didn’t know better, he would have said Illya was scared out of his mind.

It was then he heard it, a deep garbled voice that seemed to be trying to speak; the vocalizations changed to what sounded like grunts.

Napoleon took the chance and gently pushed against the door, hoping it wouldn’t creak.

As it opened a few inches he could see better, but couldn’t believe what he was looking at was real.

It was a man, sort of, dressed only in a pair of shorts. Standing nearly seven feet tall, he was covered in stitches and scars. His skin appeared unhealthy and grey. He seemed barely human.

Napoleon watched as he slammed his huge fists on a table in front of him; it was blocking his path to Kuryakin.

The wood splintered and scattered and it was then Solo made his move, rushing in and hitting the creature with multiple sleep darts. 

It staggered, moaning and as it took its final step before collapsing on the flagstone floor.

“Illya?” 

Kuryakin’s gaze finally moved to his partner. 

“Are you all right tovarisch?”

It took a moment for the Russian to gather his wits about himself. “Yes, I am...unharmed.”

“What is that thing?” Napoleon asked.

“I..I think THRUSH was trying to recreate the fictional Frankenstein’s monster. That,” Illya pointed to it,” is the result of their experiments; a reanimated creature made of individual human body parts. It must be destroyed! It is an abomination, a monster.”

Kuryakin had worked himself up into a near frenzy.

“All right, all right tovarisch.Take it easy. Where are the explosives you were supposed to set?”

“They are already in place,” Illya picked up a small detonator switch laying on the floor near the door. 

“The creature knocked it from my hand, and I could not get to it. I would have set off the explosives immediately if I had it.”

“Illya you would have been killed.”

“I was ready to die in order to destroy this place and that _ thing. _I tried shooting it, but bullets had no effect.”

“Well then let’s get out of here before it comes to. We can set off the explosives and that will be the end of it,”

Napoleon urged his partner.

“No, it must be destroyed now!” Illya insisted. “Do you have your flask with you.”  
  
“Yes, you need a drink?”

“Just give it to me, and your Zippo lighter as well.”

Napoleon handed them over and watched as Illya poured the scotch on the creature. He lit the lighter and tossed it on top of the body and watched as it began to burn.

Suddenly it began to stir, screaming as the flames erupted on its back.

“Out now!” Solo barked. 

Together they ran up the stairs and through the door of Redfern Castle. Once they were at a safe distance, Illya hit the detonator switch and they watched as it all blew up.

It was a spectacular explosion sending the walls bursting outward, and the rest of the structure collapsing in on itself.

When it was over, there was nothing but a pile of smoldering concrete and crumbled cinder blocks.

Illya turned to his partner. “You have the file?”

“Of course,” Napoleon held it up.

“That must be destroyed as well, it contains the instructions for reanimation. That can not be in the hands of anyone, not even the U.N.C.L.E. We must burn it as well.”

“Well you lost me my Zippo lighter tovarisch. You have any matches?”

“No,” Illya shrugged.” I guess...wait. There is a cigarette lighter in our car, is there not?”

“There is. Illya don’t you think we should have Mister Waverly decide about what to do with this file?”

“Did not his instructions imply that we were to eradicate the file if we could not retrieve it?”

“Well yes, but…”

“No buts Napoleon, as far as the Old Man is concerned...we did not get the file. The information contained in it must be destroyed.”

Solo nodded his acceptance; his partner was right. No one should have the ability to reanimate the dead.

They returned to their Lagonda Rapide parked a fair distance from the satrapy. It was a rather expensive car based on the Aston Martin and Napoleon was surprised they were issued this handmade luxury car from the London motor pool. Apparently they were somehow unaware of Kuryakin’s track record when it came to automobiles.

At least, so far, this car was intact.

Illya used the lighter, igniting a corner of the file. He held it in his hand until the flames became too intense and dropping it to the ground. He and Solo watched as it burned away, leaving nothing but blackened ash.

Once the flames were out Kuryakin stamped on the ashes and scattered them.

As they slipped into their seats,with Solo behind the wheel, Illya pulled his communicator and assembled it.

“Channel D, overseas relay.- Waverly.”

“Yes Mister Kuryakin, your report.”

“The satrapy has been completely destroyed, the file too I am afraid. We gave the occupants of Redfern Castle fair warning and they evacuated, all except one. The only fatality.”

“Unfortunate, but a job well done. Return to New York at the end of the week. You’ll have a few days in London, use them wisely.”

“Yes sir. Kuryakin out.”

Napoleon started the car and they drove off as the sun began to set.

They were going to need those days off to unwind from this assignment. It would probably involve a lot of alcohol.

In the ruins of the satrapy a grey hand, followed by an arm and then a head and torso clawed its way to the surface.

The creature stood, half burned and grotesque; it stared at the beautiful colors of the sunset and somehow smiled…

  



End file.
